


Taste

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Spock really likes the way Kirk tastes after a stressful situation





	1. Chapter 1

Jim Kirk was a difficult man to read, and yet, he was an open book. Spock always knew when he was happy, angry, relieved, tired, annoyed, frustrated, and even hungry. Even when he sat on the bridge with his back to the Captain’s chair, he had a pretty good idea of what Kirk was thinking, feeling, experiencing. Of course, that might have been because Spock was experiencing the same things. But at other times, in other areas, Spock couldn’t even begin to guess what was happening in Kirk’s mind. 

That’s when he intrigued Spock the most. 

When he became comfortable with Kirk’s unpredictability, he began to experiment a little with his own. It was…fun. A concept that should have been abhorrent if not completely foreign. His mother had always entreated him to at least try to enjoy his studies, his hobbies, something, anything. But Vulcans did not act for pleasure, but rather out of logic. 

There was nothing logical about what they were doing. 

In the moment after a battle ended, the entire bridge is hung in limbo. Nobody took a breath. Nobody moved. As if everybody needed a split second to ascertain that they were still living, still moving, still right where they belonged. Spock was not immune to this. The Enterprise whistled and beeped its familiar song, and Spock turned his head, just enough to catch Captain Kirk in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, trying to look calm even though his entire body was vibrating with tension and his eyes were flashing. 

And then that second ended, and everybody was moving again, going about their assigned duties. Rushing to deal with the aftermath in uniform, regulation precision. Kirk did not technically have any duties at this point—his job was done. The victory was secure, and security, or sickbay, would deal with the enemy as their shuttles arrived. If any sort of interrogation was necessary, it would be later. 

Kirk stood up and walked off the bridge, leaving the conn to Sulu. 

Spock’s mind worked quickly, along two different tracks. He saw himself remaining on the bridge, monitoring the intake, while Kirk went to greet the prisoners. He saw himself following Kirk into the lift, taking advantage of that tension, of that subtle, unmistakable vibration. A very common, completely unremarkable physical reaction to a high stress situation should not have been remotely attractive. And yet, it was. 

Spock followed Kirk off the bridge, stepping inside the lift just before the door closed behind him. 

“Mr. Spock.” 

“I assume you are going to the shuttle bay, Captain?” 

“To greet the Enterprise’s newest guests? Yes, I probably should. That would be the logical act, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yes, Captain, it would.” 

Kirk smiled a little. It was wry. It held the barest hint of exhaustion. His shoulders were starting to bend slightly, and his knuckles were white where he held the control. Whatever rush he got from that sort of engagement was starting to wear off. Spock either needed to take advantage of what remained, or he needed to think of a logic place to go himself. Perhaps to sickbay. Or to his quarters, to begin his required report to the Federation on the battle. 

“Jim…” 

Kirk looked up, meeting Spock’s gaze with alert eyes. Too alert. They were shining brightly, like another flood of adrenaline had just been dumped in his veins. Like Spock’s word had done something to…electrify him. This was a strange power he had over the Captain. How could something as simple as three letters, one syllable, a second of sound do so much to bring Kirk to life? 

Kirk released the control at the same second Spock stepped forward. He took Kirk’s arm, and their chests came together two seconds before their mouths met. Kirk immediately opened to the kiss, his mouth warm and inviting, yet just as hungry as Spock’s. Their tongues tangled, and Kirk’s hand went to the back of his neck, as if to hold him in place. The heat from Kirk’s body melted into his, and he absorbed it. Like a lizard on a rock, absorbing the energy from the sun. 

Spock needed more. He craved it. He pulled at Kirk’s shirt, seeking any bare skin he could find. He broke the kiss to a sound of disappointment and dragged his tongue along the line of Kirk’s jaw. His skin tasted of salt and adrenaline. He tasted like energy—a little bit bitter. Each taste built on itself, and instead of satisfying his craving, he only encouraged it to grow and deepen. It was a little disconcerting to forget completely about moderation, about control. But his Captain had the tendency to drive those notions completely out of his head. 

“Spock.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re…no, God, don’t stop.” He gripped Spock’s shirt, bunching it up in his fingers, but he wasn’t seeking out the texture of Spock’s skin. He just needed something to hold on to as Spock shifted his attention to the hollow of his throat, and the myriad of experiences he found there. That was where the sweat gathered during the worst of the battle. That was where he tasted of the orders he issues. It’s also where Spock could sense his relief, as he dropped his head back with a soft sight, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with each gasping breath. 

The small compartment was heavy with the sound of Kirk’s gasps and the smell of his sweat. It was a scent that was completely human, unique to Kirk’s flesh. Spock did not know how to explain the pleasure he found in that. He mouthed Kirk through his shirt, too impatient to even take the time to rip the material apart. He scraped his teeth over Kirk’s nipple, with just enough pressure to make him arch his back. 

“Spock…what are you doing?” 

He dragged Kirk’s shirt over his ribs, revealing the tight muscles of his stomach. “I am tasting you, Captain.” 

“Why?” 

Spock paused in his exploration. “Consider it…scientific research.” 

“Scientific research?” The words were riding a rush of air. His fingers flexed on the back of Spock’s neck. “What do you mean?” 

“This is when you are in your element. When your body seemed perfectly in tune with the crew. With the ship. It is something I wish to experience with all my senses.” 

“Ah, including your sense of taste?” 

“Precisely.” 

“Well…then please…carry on.” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said, his lips brushing against Kirk’s skin, branding the words there with hot breath. 

Kirk responded with a weak moan. A sound full of n’s and g’s. In the back of Spock’s mind, a clock kept perfect count, reminding him of exactly how many seconds they were spending in the lift. If anybody was expecting them, if anybody was waiting for the lift, they were probably feeling each of those seconds as well. And yet, Spock could not bring himself to care. He would keep track of the time, but he wouldn’t be a slave to it. He wouldn’t let that distract him from the line of perspiration marking the center of Kirk’s abdomen. Or the twitching, jumping nerves beneath Kirk’s skin. 

Kirk was curiously sensitive, each light touch enough to make him twist. He even squirmed as Spock laved his skin, his hips jutting at odd angles. Spock could tell he was trying to pull away, but at the same time, trying to strain for more. His body was caught between two mutually exclusive desires, but Spock knew exactly how to end that particular inner battle. His tongue circled Kirk’s navel, the very tip drawing a tight circle, as he hooked his fingers around Kirk’s waistband and pulled them down his hips until his erection sprung free from the confines. 

“Spock…I don’t know what’s gotten into you but…I like it.” 

That was the last time Jim Kirk had the ability to form a full sentence until long after the lift doors opened and allowed them to exit. 

Spock started at the very tip of his penis, and a different sort of flavor exploded against his taste buds. The clear fluid there was salty, just as Kirk’s sweat had been. But the pre-come didn’t taste of bitter adrenaline and the stress of battle. It tasted of pure arousal. The fluid was thick and layered across his tongue, a promise of what was to come. As soon as he licked it away, more replaced it, almost as though Kirk’s body was producing it specifically for Spock’s pleasure. 

Spock closed his lips around the head of Kirk’s penis, creating a tight seal around the throbbing flesh. He sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing, and Kirk shouted in response. It was more a yelp. Or a bark of surprise. His hips slammed forward, but he was unable to push more of his length into Spock’s mouth—because Spock would not grant him another inch. He wanted to suck more of the slick pre-come from Kirk’s body. He pushed the tip of his tongue into the leaking slit, seeking more of the delicious taste. Spock could rationalize almost everything he did with Kirk, but he could not explain why he found that particular thing so pleasing. 

“Spock…Spock…” But he wasn’t forming real words. Not quite. They were hints of words. Wisps of sound. The hand on Spock’s neck moved to the back of his head, but Kirk didn’t waste his time, or his strength, in an attempt to make Spock move. “You are…You’re…” 

Spock didn’t lift his head to ask for clarification. It wasn’t that important. Especially since he had no doubt that both of them would be deeply disappointed by the loss of contact. He slipped his hand between Kirk’s legs, his long fingers reaching past Kirk’s scrotum. Kirk realized what he was doing and tried to widen his legs, but it was an impossible task. His pants were still caught around his thighs, making any additional movement too difficult to accomplish. Spock didn’t need him to try. 

One slim finger pushed between Kirk’s buttocks, seeking out his opening. Kirk always tensed when Spock tried this—though Kirk knew by now that it didn’t hurt—so Spock didn’t give him the chance. He pushed his finger into Kirk’s channel in a single, easy motion. But he paused, giving Kirk the time he needed to adjust to the intrusion. 

“Spock…I know…I know what…” 

Despite Kirk’s labored attempt, he couldn’t quite convey what he wanted to. Spock didn’t know if Kirk knew what Spock intended to do and he welcomed it, or if he was trying to offer some sort of warning. But he also knew that they didn’t have all the time in the world, and what Jim needed was only one simple gesture away. 

What they both needed, for that matter. 

It didn’t always work this way, but Jim was already completely on edge. He needed a way to come down from his adrenaline high before he simply crashed. His flesh was tight and corded with tension that needed to be relieved. Spock knew exactly what he must have been feeling. 

Spock curved his finger, dragging the tip across that hidden spot, the secret trigger that always set Jim off. He tensed, his breath whistling between his tight lips. Spock tightened the suction around Jim’s shaft and crooked his finger again, applying more pressure to his prostate. He pressed for one…two…three…four seconds. And then the silence was shattered with a harsh shout that echoed through Spock’s skull. 

Come erupted against Spock’s tongue, stream after stream filling his mouth. But his lips were so tight that not even a drop dripped past the seal. He caught every bit of it, savoring it the way he had savored the pre-come. This was yet another taste. Thicker than anything else. Heavier. And completely, utterly, entirely, fully Kirk. Of every flavor he had catalogued on Kirk’s skin, of every taste he had marked, this was the most intense. This was intimacy and hunger. This was need and desire. This was pleasure, deep and real. 

Spock swallowed and swallowed, until there was nothing left to milk from Jim’s cock. He cleaned the skin, noting the way the texture changed as he began to soften. When he glanced up through his lashes, he noticed the way Jim’s shoulders were slumping again. And the manic light was gone from his eyes. 

Spock calmly pushed himself to his feet, straightened his shirt, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Kirk smiled his gratitude. 

“Do you still wish to meet the shuttles, Captain?” 

Kirk nodded. 

Spock took the control. “Shuttle bay.” 

Kirk saw to his clothes, and he looked mostly put together by the time the doors swished open. Spock allowed Kirk to exit first, but Kirk paused just as he stepped out of the list. “Don’t think this is over, Mr. Spock.” 

“Of course not, Captain.” 

“I expect to see you in my quarters when everything here it taken care of.” 

Spock inclined his head in a silent promise, Kirk’s rich taste still lingering on his tongue.


	2. Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock listens as Kirk dreams.

The ship was never silent. Not even when the third shift was on the bridge and the lights in the crew decks were dim. Music floated from behind closed doors. Very soft melodies from countless cultures, countless planets, countless time periods. Except for the crew members who were from worlds where music either didn’t exist or was unpleasing. But even from those quarters often came the sound of voices, of snores, of heaving breathing, of moans. Then there was the sound of computer, the whistle of various intercoms, and the whisper of doors opening and closing. Below all that, so low that nearly everybody on the ship naturally ignored it, was the soft hum of life support and the engines. 

The human mind naturally filtered through the sounds, blocking the ones that were so persistent, so commonplace, as to be deemed unnecessary. That was why Jim Kirk could sleep so easily, and why Spock found himself staring into the darkness, marking each sound, tracing the source of every slight, audible disruption. He could have turned inward, meditating until the outside world ceased to exist and his senses were superfluous nuisances. But if he did that, then he would miss out on everything. 

He’d miss the now familiar pattern of Kirk’s breathing. A deep, slow breath that lasted for two-point-six seconds, and then an even slower exhale. One that whistled through his nose in the softest kind of sigh. He would continue in this way for minutes, sometimes hours, with only the slightest variations. An exhale that lasted for three-point-one, rather than two-point-four seconds. Or a brief pause between inhale and exhale, like he was gathering his breath to issue a command. 

Or maybe a request. 

Those moments were interesting, but not as fascinating as when the pattern dissolved into something that could not be properly ordered. Kirk’s breath came in fast gasps, with no measurable intervals. His hands opened and closed in the air, gaping like useless mouths. Each breath was punctuated by a moan. Those were occasionally followed up by shouts, and even formless words. Spock could never quite decipher what Kirk was trying to say in those moments. It was almost as if in those dark, endless seconds, Kirk became an entirely new life form. One quite alien to Spock, specifically, and Vulcans in general. 

Once, Spock’s innate curiosity had been too much, and he had risked a momentary meld. Kirk had stilled beneath his touch—as though a part of him had been waiting for that—and Spock had seen it. All of it. 

Kirk dreamt of cliffs. Looming above him. Reaching to the stars. Cutting off below him in dark, sheer drops that never ended. He dreamt about the edges. And it was those edges that pulled the deep, sorrowful sounds from his throat. Spock had broken the meld within seconds, but it didn’t matter. Those dreams had been seared into his mind. It was impossible not to see him when Kirk raced too close to one, when he reached out to catch himself and there was nothing there. 

Until the night Kirk reached out, and something was. 

Spock was lying on his side, his head pillowed on his arm, his eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep, though, and he knew the second Kirk shifted from his rather peaceful slumbers to the cliffs. His breath didn’t just quicken. It came in sharp, gasping sounds, each one louder than the one before it. He was working himself up into a scream. Spock could sense that much, but he did not know how to stop it. Waking Kirk would save him from that one, particular fall, but it would not cure his fascination. That went far deeper than any dream. 

He was still trying to puzzle that out when a hand fell on his shoulder, and immediately tightened. Spock might have been much stronger than Kirk, but that did not mean that Kirk’s grip didn’t hurt. His fingers sunk into Spock’s flesh with the strength of steel, and once they were secure, they gave no sign of loosening. Spock remained still, ignoring the slight pain radiating from his shoulder. He could not see Kirk’s face. He could see nothing in the darkness. Telling the computer to put up the lights would be a trivial matter, but he didn’t. He told himself he would in a moment. But at that precise second, he had no need to see anything. 

Kirk’s breathing softened, but it did not even out. The moans started to take shape, but as always, they were words in a language Spock could not grasp. The beginning of syllables. Half-attempts at pleas. A jumble of incoherency until Spock could finally pick out repeated sound. One attempt that came again and again, and thus, must have meaning. 

Spock knew that not all auditory experiences could be trusted. There were many, many experiments and examples of people listening to nothing but white noise and hearing everything from their own names, to songs, to unknown, demonic voices. The mind, regardless of species, looked for order in chaos. It processed information in such a way to provide that order, even if there was genuinely nothing except chaos. Vulcan minds were just as susceptible to that phenomenon as human minds, and Spock never forgot that. 

Still, he was quite certain that Kirk was not making random sounds. He was trying to say Spock’s name. 

“Jim,” he whispered. 

If possible, Jim’s fingers tightened. Spock shifted, moving closer on the narrow bed. Not that much space separated them, but Spock wanted to be closer. “Jim.” 

He whimpered. Such a weak sound. Something in Spock’s gut tightened. He couldn’t resist that pull. Kirk’s body fit against his, locking into place like they were built to be in that position, in that narrow bed. 

“Jim.”

Spock didn’t know what he was trying to do. He didn’t speak loud enough to wake Kirk, and yet, he knew Kirk was responding. Or maybe Spock was only imagining that? 

Before he could lose too much time debating that point, Kirk’s mouth was against his. 

Spock knew immediately that Kirk was still sleeping. For one thing, his mouth completely lacked tension. For another, the whimpers had not stopped. They came from the back of his throat, and they seemed to flow into Spock’s mouth, filling him up. But they had changed slightly. Now he sounded more hungry than lost. 

The kiss continued in its sleepy way. Spock responded without pushing for more, wary of rousing Kirk from sleep. He also responded without pulling away. Occasionally, their tongues slid together, sending something like electricity down his spine. Like touching a short circuit and having no choice but to ride out the shocks. 

Spock’s hand drifted down Kirk’s body, his fingers lightly running over his taut skin. That changed the shape of Kirk’s moans again. Now they were a little deeper, lasted a little bit longer, echoed in Spock’s mind. Kirk’s erection was unmistakable against Spock’s thigh. He wore light, loose pants—and nothing else. It wasn’t difficult to push his fingers past the waistband, testing the sensitive skin around Kirk’s groin and along the seam of his inner thigh. 

Jim’s tone changed again. The pressure against Spock’s mouth changed, as well. Now it was more concrete. Solid. Spock didn’t think Kirk was fully awake, but he was certain that he was no longer hanging over the edge of some high, jagged cliff. Though he still clung to Spock with his full strength. Spock did not bruise easily, but he wouldn’t be surprised the next morning to see five perfect marks on his flesh. 

He skimmed his palm over Jim’s slick skin, gathering the pre-come and spreading it down his shaft. Jim’s hips jerked, and Spock automatically tightened his grip in response. He held the other man until he stilled. His flesh pulsed, throbbing against Spock’s fingers, and Spock could hear Kirk’s heart beating as well. Spock could not see him, but he could easily imagine the perspiration on Kirk’s brow, as well as the pulse hammering at his throat. 

“Please…” 

The first word since the darkness had descended. As soon as Spock heard it, he knew that that was what he had been waiting for. A whisper to caress him, send chills down his back, even as his hands and face warmed with a curious flush. He didn’t ask for a clarification he didn’t need. He pumped his wrist, dragging his fist from the base of Kirk’s penis to the tip and then back again. Kirk reacted exactly as Spock knew he would—his body, at least, was wholly predictable. A shuddering moan that made them both weak, a thrust of his hips, a silent plea to continue that Spock heard loud and clear. 

Spock tried to press closer to Kirk’s body, seeking out its sleepy warmth. As soon as Kirk felt the nudge of Spock’s knees, he draped one leg over Spock and pulled him forward. Spock barely had enough room to move his hand, but he didn’t let that stop him. The strokes were short and fast, building friction and heat between their skin. Kirk’s mouth broke away from Spock’s, and his lips sought out the curve of Spock’s neck. 

There, all sound became inaudible. Nothing more that vibrations moving through Spock’s flesh. Each one of Spock’s sensitive nerve endings picked up the signal, and the silent moans of encouragement became caresses. Like long fingers, they stroked over Spock’s skin. A low pleasure poured through him, thick and sticky. It was a bit comforting. It made him ache. It was satisfying. He moved his wrist faster in response, trying to give Jim the same sort of sensation. He wasn’t sure if Jim’s flesh was as sensitive as his own. He wasn’t sure if Jim found pleasure in simple things—or even if he could find pleasure in the same things since he was not half-Vulcan. But Spock, at least, knew the basics, and he knew exactly what would make his Captain thrust his hips, what would make him shout into the bend of Spock’s neck. 

Spock concentrated on keeping his own breathing even. The more Kirk moved against him, the more Spock slowed each breath. Until they were locked in complete silence, Kirk’s voice fully muffled, and Spock’s body almost utterly still. Except for the occasional expansion of his chest and the rapid motion of his wrist. Even Kirk was still, no longer thrusting his hips to seek out more friction, more pressure. To an outsider, they would look asleep. Spock tentatively reached for Kirk’s mind again and found a swirl of colors, of flesh, of skin, a deepening well of bliss and satisfaction. 

And then it all exploded. The calm was shattered, the peace melted away as Kirk’s body went rigid and his length began to twitch in Spock’s hand, coating with warm, thick fluid. Spock held onto him, flexing his fingers, coaxing each drop of come, each second of pleasure from Jim’s body. There was a soft moan, and Spock realized it didn’t quite sound like the others. Because it was coming from his own throat. 

Kirk slumped against him, still once more. Spock listened without moving, and counted two-point-seven seconds between each breath.


	3. Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk gets a mirror...he wants Spock to watch.

When the captain of the USS Enterprise asks for a full-length mirror to be brought to his quarters, it happens without question or comment. The two crewmembers who ultimately fulfilled the order shared more than one look between them, but they didn’t say a word, and neither did anybody else. Spock didn’t even say a word, though its unexplained presence in the sleeping area did raise more than one question in his mind. Kirk didn’t volunteer an explanation, either. 

It wasn’t a particularly lovely or ornate mirror. Spock assumed it came from the storage level, where they kept most of the gifts they received from diplomats, dignitaries, and other official personages. It was a little over two feet wide, and a little bit taller than Spock himself. Kirk had it propped up against the wall, almost haphazardly. As near as Spock could tell, it had no special significance, it was not particularly valuable, and it didn’t actually do anything to improve the look of the room. Not that Kirk had ever seemed concerned with the general beauty of his living quarters. Either way, it clearly had not been brought in as an accessory. 

“Do you like it?” Kirk asked from behind him. 

“I see no reason why I should,” Spock answered, turning away from his reflection. 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Kirk rested his chin on Spock’s shoulder, his chest to Spock’s back. “Because it’s for you.” 

“For me, Captain? What do I need with a mirror?” 

“Are you kidding? What _don’t_ you need with a mirror.” Kirk touched Spock’s jaw and gently directed him to look forward. Spock’s gaze jumped away from his own reflection to study Kirk. His chin was still resting on Spock’s shoulder, and his eyes were dancing, as though they held a piece of irrepressible good news. 

“I do not understand.” 

“I think I’m going to have to show you.” Kirk rested his hand against Spock’s stomach, the tips of his fingers just skimming across the waistband of Spock’s pants. “That’s part of the gift.” 

“Why do you give me a gift at all? Is there some sort of special occasion I’m not aware of.” 

“No.” He turned his head and pressed his mouth to Spock’s neck. “No special occasion. But I want you to just watch the mirror.” 

“Jim?” 

“Captain’s orders.” 

Spock had no choice but to refocus on the glass in front of him. “Yes, sir.” 

He felt Kirk smile against his skin, and then his hand was moving, sliding down Spock’s body to palm his growing erection. Spock did not require the same sort of release that Kirk did, and he never thought to ask for it, but Kirk was always happy to provide it. Now he massaged Spock through his pants, working his hand up and down Spock’s length slowly. The pants were cumbersome. Annoying. Spock would have happily unzipped them and pushed them away, but he kept his hands at his side, unwilling and unable to stop Jim from the slow, thorough caress. Each time his hand reached the tip, he would squeeze lightly. The muscles in Spock’s stomach and thighs flexed automatically, pulling tight with pleasure. 

“Are you watching?” Kirk asked between hard kisses along Spock’s neck. 

“Yes.” His voice was steady, even though everything inside of him was already quaking. Kirk’s other hand slid down Spock’s arm, barely touching him at all until he reached Spock’s wrist. He began to caress Spock in a tight, circular pattern, as if trying to coax all the nerve-endings just below the skin into life. It was working. “Why…do I need to watch the mirror?” 

Kirk glanced up through his lashes, meeting Spock’s dark gaze. “I’m too busy to explain.” 

To prove his point, he sank to his knees, leaving hard kisses down Spock’s back. Even through the material of his shirt, he could feel Kirk’s hot mouth and the sharp points of his teeth. Every inch of clothes created a maddening itch. One he wanted to be well rid of. One that would be soothed by the smooth texture of Kirk’s lips, and the rougher tip of his tongue. 

When Kirk hit his knees, his hand disappeared from Spock’s erection. Spock gasped—the most he would allow himself to protests—and then he was alone in the mirror. Kirk was lost behind him, practically invisible, and Spock was left to stare at himself. Was that what Kirk had intended when he ordered the mirror into his room? It was unnerving. The being staring at him in the mirror with dark eyes and too many human features. His eyes. Kirk had commented on them more than once, unknowingly echoing taunts that Spock could still hear. Of course, Jim’s words were never mocking. They were…affectionate. 

Five fingers closing around his scrotum pulled Spock rather abruptly from his thoughts. Kirk had reached between his legs, and for a moment, his hand almost seemed disembodied. And far too pale against Spock’s black pants. Spock couldn’t help but stare at each flex of Kirk’s fingers, sighing as the corresponding pleasure raced through him. Strangely, each time Kirk squeezed, Spock felt it right at the base of his throat. It made it impossible to swallow. Impossible to breathe. Kirk’s mouth was busy once again, biting the curve of Spock’s ass—gnawing at it. Spock did not understand the pressure was enough to make his knees weak, but it was undeniable that—not Kirk’s hand—that made his legs shake a little. 

“Jim?” 

“Hmm.” 

“I need to get out of these pants.” 

“Oh.” Kirk’s mouth disappeared. “I guess you better take care of that.”

Spock’s fingers were shaking as he unzipped his pants. It would not have been noticeable to anybody else. Not even Kirk. But Spock noticed it. Marveled at it. It took so little from Kirk to completely change everything Spock knew about himself. About his own body. Spock glanced up briefly, surprised by the sight of his own face. There something different—perhaps his eyes were too bright. His mouth parted a little too widely as he gasped for breath. 

Kirk gripped the pants just above Spock’s knees and gave them a hard tug. Spock stepped out of them as Kirk pulled, tossing them to the other side of the room. Spock barely had a chance to adjust to the change in temperature before Kirk’s impossibly hot mouth returned to his skin. He left a trail of small kisses down Spock’s buttocks, his lips as smooth as Spock had imagined. A nudge at his thigh prompted him to widen his legs. 

“Are you watching?” Kirk murmured. 

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, though Spock still didn’t know what he was watching for. His penis was fully erect, a slight bend curving the tip upwards. The muscles in his thighs were clearly defined, pulled taut. His skin was pale with the lightest green tint, which was only emphasized when Kirk wrapped his pink fingers around Spock’s length. 

Because Spock was watching as he was told, he had just enough warning to take a deep breath before Kirk caught Spock’s scrotum with his lips. He sucked hard on Spock’s balls, rolling his tongue around them, teasing them ever so lightly with his pointed teeth. After a few moments, Kirk began moving in a recognizable rhythm, his palm and mouth working in tandem. Pleasure, hot like the Vulcan sun, worked its way up Spock’s body, starting at his toes and moving higher and higher, pushing through is blood like a fever. 

“Jim…don’t…” 

Kirk didn’t respond. He didn’t acknowledge Spock’s soft plea at all. Spock dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t watching anymore. He couldn’t. Not as his control slipped farther and farther from him. Gradually. He was dangling over a cliff, his fingers digging into sheer rock, gravity pulling at his body, as gravity must do. And moment by moment, painful inch by tedious inch, he was losing his purchase on that rock. Kirk would not help him find it again. 

Because Jim Kirk liked falling, liked the abyss, too much. 

Kirk’s rhythm was perfect, Spock realized. The detached part of his brain that was still capable of higher processes understood what was happening. It was fast enough to fan the tiny flames licking at his flesh, but it was not fast enough to bring any sort of satisfaction. With each stroke of his fist, Kirk heightened both the pleasure and the frustration. Desire drummed through him. It was his heart, picking up speed, preparing for that final moment, that elusive release that was just…out…of…reach. 

Some sound, something guttural, tore itself from Spock’s throat. That was enough to make Kirk freeze, and then everything was moving. It was all so fluid—his mirror self matching him perfectly, both moving so gracefully. At one moment, Kirk was behind him, hiding from the mirror, and then Spock blinked and Kirk was beneath him. Their eyes clashed, and though Spock had Kirk pinned to the ground, his back flat, his shoulders immobile, there wasn’t a single hint of fear in Kirk’s eyes. 

“Don’t stop watching,” he said, and Spock didn’t even know what that _meant_. Jim licked the corner of his mouth, his tongue drawing Spock’s full attention. It was so close to his arousal that Spock knew Kirk must have been teasing him. He felt as though he was moving in slow motion, though the detached part of him—completely out of control now—understood that the world was moving at its regular pace. 

Spock pushed his erection past Kirk’s parted lips, sliding his entire length into his mouth, not stopping until he was completely buried in Kirk’s throat. Kirk didn’t look away, his eyes wide as his cheeks hollowed. He swallowed once, sending a series of sparks down Spock’s spine. He rocked back an inch, but he couldn’t stand to lose the heat. When he pushed forward again, Kirk’s mouth opened even more, his jaw relaxing in perfect submission. Spock rested his hand on top of Kirk’s head, his fingers getting lost in his hair as he braced himself. 

Spock didn’t mean to, but he looked up and caught his reflection once again. And once again, he couldn’t see Kirk’s face. Just his own as Kirk swallowed around his length, his throat squeezing and squeezing and squeezing tighter than anything Spock had ever experienced. He saw his own hunger twisting his face, and the relief lurking in the back of his eyes. He was close. He was so close. 

Kirk reached behind Spock and cupped his ass, his strong fingers pulling Spock even closer. That was all Spock needed. With Kirk holding him tight enough to leave faint bruises, he gave in. He didn’t just release the ledge. He pushed himself away from it. He went into free fall, his mind going black, his world narrowing to the points where his body met Jim’s. 

His hops moved in hard thrust, and he fucked Kirk’s throat without another thought, without a single bit of hesitation. There was nothing to hold him back. Nothing to stop him. Jim couldn’t have even stopped him if he wanted to. Every cell in his body was focused on the friction against his shaft, the growing pleasure, the way the fever consumed his blood before seeking fresh fuel to burn. Kirk’s throat was slick, tight, and fragile. But at that moment, it belonged to Spock. Kirk belonged to him, existed for nothing more than his satisfaction. 

As soon as that notion passed through his mind, he exploded. His semen was different than Kirk’s—a bit thicker, and there was a bit more of it. Kirk never seemed to mind, though. He sucked at Spock’s length, his throat working to swallow every bit of it until Spock was completely spent. 

“Jim…” He eased away carefully, considered standing, then simply dropped to the floor, settling at Kirk’s side. “You shouldn’t…” 

“Why not?” Jim rasped. 

“Because I could hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Your faith, while appreciated, is illogical.” 

“It’s not, Spock.” 

“But I…” 

“Trust me. Did you watch?” 

Spock’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He needed a drink. “I did, Jim.” 

The smile he bestowed on Spock was more than reassuring. “Good, Spock. Good.”


End file.
